


a sense of poise (and irrationality)

by asteriel



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Corporate Espionage, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asteriel/pseuds/asteriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not going to chime in, Geoff?” Ryan asked, slightly concerned for his boss. Slightly. He was mostly just amused.</p><p>“I'd chime in with a haven't you people ever heard of completing a single mission without burning half of the building down, but I’m too busy being fucking astounded by this report," Geoff snapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sense of poise (and irrationality)

It all started on that one mission with Gavin Free. It always happened to be that one mission, and it always happened to be one with Gavin, but Ryan Haywood, really, genuinely believed it started because of a happenstance choice of words as an introduction.

“So, you’re the new boyfriend? Geoff told me to expect a plus one from Gavvers here.” And Burnie Burns, CEO of a major tech company with major enemy spy infiltrations within its ranks, grinned: bright, oblivious, and earnest at the two spies in front of him.

Ryan's mind fumbled for a suitable response, because bosses who didn't debrief him were the worst. He took the offered hand. He vaguely noted a lack of callouses. "Hi, Mr. Burns. Uh, Gavin here told me a lot about you and all you've done for him. I'm- Michael. Free. Michael Free."

He could feel Gavin stiffen beside him as Burns's face began to express signs of confusion.

Taking rapid initiative, Gavin wrapped one hand on his shoulder and leaned against him with an air of obviously forced ease. "My, uh, husband. It's been a bollocking long time, Burnie. Sorry over the lack of invitation; there wasn't exactly a wedding." The hand twitched at the lie, but his face remained surprisingly composed as it twisted into a bright, disingenuous smile.

Ryan duly noted that Gavin could be a great actor. Which, in retrospect, he should have realized sooner since it came with the job description.

Burns seemed to be stunned with this new information, but recovered quickly enough. His eyes glimmered as he looked over them appraisingly and Ryan tensed to reach for the pistol hidden in the inside of his jacket. The grip on his shoulder tightened in warning.

A beat passed by. "That's- Wow." There was a new warmth in Burns’s eyes when he looked at Gavin and grinned. "I guess importing your British twinkiness to the United States was a good move after all."

Gavin moved away from Ryan to give Burns a spluttering shove.

-

The first mission in which Ryan Haywood was partnered with Gavin Free, it really should’ve caused Ramsey to think, “Never again.”

The censored case details were locked up in a top secret folder, inside a top secret safe, inside a top secret, restricted area somewhere, far, far away from the United States of America. The uncensored descriptions of what had occurred were forgotten and lost to rumors, time, and a vat of nuclear waste.

When Lindsay Tuggey, desk mate to Ryan, asked him how the first mission went, Ryan laughed a maniacal laugh that really pushed Agency member bets forward on how long it would take before Haywood decided to murder a fellow spy.

When Michael Jones had asked Gavin Free how it went, Gavin made a really stupid face that only served to piss him off, and was extremely unforthcoming with answers, even when absurdly intoxicated at the Agency’s New Year’s Party. And if Gavin was unwilling to tell Michael, his best friend in the office and possibly the whole world, then, really, the mission was probably better off bleached from the face of the planet.

When Jack Pattillo (second-in-command and Vice President of the Spy Division) asked Geoff Ramsey for specifics, Geoff had stared out the window and said, “If you even try to mention coins to me, hand in your resignation form now,” before grabbing the whiskey on his desk and downing it.

Two months later, they were assigned their second mission. Nobody knew the logistics, but it apparently involved a three hour 'chat' in Geoff's office that ended with three bullets on the carpet that were later found by the custodian.

-

"Michael? Why 'Michael'? _Burnie's_ first name is Michael,” he said tersely.

He tries to give an apathetic shrug in response before wincing when Gavin, with a total lack of remorse, roughly applied antiseptic on the bullet wound. Heartless.

“Hey, I only got shot because you weren't taking proper cover in that office shootout!” Gavin ignored him.

"Ryan isn't even your real name. And that's common enough. You could have used that, you- you sausage. Instead you chose Michael. And then we got shot at because, somehow, one of Burnie's employees thought you were the esteemed spy _Michael Jones_. Somehow."

"Listen, I don't really work well under pressure. And what were the odds that the employee happened to be one of the guys we were trying to find?" He didn't wince when Gavin made a stabbing motion at his wound. Nope, not at all. "Anyways, you’re the one who messed up the cover and called me ‘Ryan’ instead of ‘Michael.’” He would have air-quoted if his arm wasn't painfully being held hostage by an irritated field agent.

“Can’t be bothered with covers,” Gavin said dismissively. Ryan noted a slight waver in his tone, betraying some hidden unease he felt with this discussion. He would analyze that later when his body wasn’t whining at him to just lay down and never move again. “We didn’t exactly set up a good cover story beforehand, anyways. I fixed it all up, so now your cover name is Ryan Michael Ramsay-Free.” Ryan wondered if he should complain about the intensified dabbing on his wound; his arm was getting numb. “You’re bloody welcome for that.”

“‘Ramsey’? Like our _boss_ ,” he said incredulously. Ryan barely noticed Gavin tying off the bandages around the injury and taking out a marker from the first aid kit.

“No, like the chef. With an ‘A’ not an ‘E’. I’m not stupid, Ryan.”

“I never said you were stupid,” Ryan said irritably, trying to shrug Gavin's hand away. The bullet wound stung.

Gavin let out a small noise of frustration before drawing a dick on the bandages. What a fucking terrible husband.

“Come on, put on your shirt, and let’s go pretend that you didn't get shot by my former employee’s worker, that your naming choices are lush, that we didn't murder a guy, and that we’re newlyweds to the guy who pretty much brought me to America.”

-

Their second mission wasn't nearly as disastrous as the first, but they did end up crashing three company cars and two motorcycles. “It was a stealth mission,” Geoff said incredulously. “How the fuck did you ruin so many vehicles on a stealth mission? At an accounting firm. You had two targets. _Two_.”

Ryan and Gavin pointedly didn't meet each other’s eyes.

-

They were on their way to lunch with Burnie and his Ashley Jenkins (“Extremely competent, super smart, and way too good for Burns,” Geoff had snorted in the debriefing. Ryan pointedly did not mention Geoff’s chainsaw-swinging wife, who was definitely way tougher than Ramsey) when had Gavin linked his arms around Ryan’s.

Ryan raised an eyebrow at this sudden gesture because for all that Gavin was extremely tactile with Geoff and Michael, soft-physical contact wasn't really a thing done between them in public. Or on missions. Especially not on public missions.

Gavin must have noticed his slight confusion because he rolled his eyes, and cheekily grinned up. “Play along love, won’t you?”

“And here I thought you had something special with Michael,” he said sarcastically. He immediately regret the words when he felt Gavin stiffen and press down on his bandages.

"I am not dating Michael. Or Lindsay, I'll have you know." Gavin was on top form this mission, the asshole. He mentally noted to make Gavin’s life miserable for their next (less domestic) assignment in the near future.

They arrived at the restaurant with Ryan covering his winces and Gavin grinning cheerily at the waitress, at Ryan, and at Burnie and Ashley when they spotted them. It was terrifying. And people liked to complain about _him_.

Oh, “Mad King Ryan,” So scary. He impaled an enemy spy once with a plastic crown (and maybe bashed him with it twenty-seven times to make sure he was dead) and suddenly, he got the most dangerous reputation in the office. Absurd. Meanwhile, Gavin set four buildings on fire and liked to “accidentally” inflict damage on him on a regular basis and yet, he was the “mad” one? Insane.

They took their seats and Burnie and Ashley restarted the basic introductions with them, except Ryan was just a little more confident in introducing himself as Ryan, "Call me Michael," Ramsay-Free.

Halfway through a conversation in which Burnie was talked very passionately about cloud saves and Apple technology (that Ashley had probably heard about twenty times, judging by her fond, tolerant expression), Gavin (either to be a dick, or to stop Burnie’s rant), very intentionally prodded the area where he was shot.

He let out a minuscule noise of pain and grit his teeth, because, “What, Gavin?”

And apparently that was Gavin’s cue to use the lull in the Burnie’s speech to loudly announce, “Ryan, love, how are your burn wounds?”

Fucking improv. He didn't take acting classes back in college to deal with whiny partners in a spy agency.

“I’m fine, _honey_ ,” and at the couple’s worried and confused looks, he had to clarify, “Uh, spilled hot coffee on myself. Since someone is a fucking klutz and knocked into me.”

Gavin was unfazed by this, “Yeah, Burnie, you know me. Tripping all over the gaff. Which is a good point, really, we need to get to the bathroom to change Ryan’s bandages and all.” He grabbed Ryan’s arm to tug him up, and left with a rushed, “Burnie, if you order soup with bread inside, I might actually throw up,” before dragging Ryan to the men’s restroom.

“We didn't bring any bandages,” he pointed out, just to be a bit smarmy back.

Gavin ignored him (Ryan almost missed the days where Gavin wasn't confident enough to even talk to him, let alone be confrontational about it) and leaned into his personal bubble. Ryan could see that, up close, Gavin’s nose was really, really big (and that his eyes were a really pretty color).

“You’re a terrible actor.”

Ryan blinked. He majored in _theater_. “What?”

“We're supposed to be married, remember? At least act like you’d want to be married to me." Gavin kept their eyes locked and backed up to gauge his reaction.

Which. “What?”

Gavin muttered something about how usually Ryan was the articulate one on missions, which was true, but in his defense, this whole situation was a little bit beyond his usual activities of stab, stab, act cool. And he didn't think he was acting that badly.

"They probably think we're in some rough waters, or like, had really bad sex. Or a fight. Or something. So, right now, go out there and pretend you’re in love with me or Burnie’s going to throw a fit."

He wasn't sure how to immediately respond to that and settled for a, “Oh, that won’t be hard,” as a joke. Eyebrow waggle included. But even with Gavin’s little scoff, to Ryan, it came out as maybe a little too genuine for his own tastes. Maybe.

Too genuine, because when they walked back to their seats, Ryan was stricken with a thought along the lines of, _I really wouldn't mind being married to you._

It was... Well, it was something to think about.

-

Their third mission had a little more property damage, but it was arguably still more successful than their second. After all, no cars were crashed, except the police cruiser, and really, that was just a rear ending, so it wasn't that bad.

Also, their target was dead (burned in the office fire that happened to be isolated to his desk) so their task was technically completed. Technically.  
  
“You were just supposed to snipe him. Drug him. Make it look like an accident? I know you two can do this. This is, like, fucking basics.” Geoff looked like he had a migraine. “How the fuck did gasoline, twenty matches, and,” he squinted at the paperwork, “five bags of glitter get involved?”

Gavin was lucky that he was Geoff’s adopted-favorite because, “so, there was a bet” was probably not the right answer.

Both wondered why they kept on getting assigned together. Geoff didn't seem to have an answer either.

-

So Gavin wanted method acting, fine. Ryan cranked the newlywed emotions up a notch, lacing his tones with a more sugary, gentler farce that caused Gavin to stop bitching at Burnie and laugh before shoving him on the shoulder.

Ashley winked at him, and Ryan couldn't help but feel like he was getting pseudo-sister approval. It was odd.

They paid for their half of the check and Ryan reached over and grabbed Gavin’s hand. Gavin didn't even flinch.

He made a mental note to order some croutons for his soup the next time he and Gavin went to a restaurant (because he needed revenge for the pain somehow) and they waved Burnie and Ashley a short farewell, _see you soon, we'll be doing married people stuff_.

Gavin’s hand was warm in his, and they stepped in pace, back to the hotel for weapons and gear.

-

The fourth, fifth, and sixth missions didn't exactly get better, per say, but they learned. They got shot together, they shot others, and they did international missions that typically ended with Geoff pulling strings to prevent arrest by the International Police.

They’re sickeningly-saccharinely dubbed “Team Love and Stuff” by Gavin and Geoff keeps sending them on missions. Even with all the property damage, people damage, and damage in general.

And despite the arguments that he and Gavin got into, they both did agree that most of their missions, were at the very least, far more entertaining than typical ones with other partners.

It was easy to get endeared to Gavin’s bumbling enthusiasm when the world got set on fire as a backdrop to their chaos.

-

They were back in the hotel room when they began flipping through more files of employees. The clear up of enemy spies from Burnie’s company was partially due to personal reasons on both Gavin’s and Geoff’s behalf for a friend and mostly due to Agency interests due to technological advances. A mission was a mission and Ryan already got shot by the first discovered mole.

“If he has any friends waiting for a rendezvous point, they’re going to panic when they find that he’s missing. If they haven’t already,” Ryan said as Gavin flickered through the security footage.

"I can't believe we killed a company spy on the first stakeout," Gavin mused. "Bloody incredible. It happened so fast it's almost not worth mentioning in the mission report later."

Ryan let out a noncommittal noise from the bed, looking for prospective infiltrators.

Gavin stretched in the hotel sofa where he was seated, shifting the computer on his lap. "You know, Ryan," he started. His fingers tapped on the keys to switch perspective on the security cameras.

"Hm?" 

"We should probably spend Geoff's credit card while we're here."

"You know what, Gavin? I think that's a great idea."

-

There was a betting pool in the office, started by either Lindsay or Michael, regarding the Team Love and Stuff partnership.

The highest bet was set at five hundred dollars by Jack who believed that it would take their twenty-seventh mission for Geoff to finally give up and let them have free reign of mission choice. Fuck Agency policies, and all.

“At that point,” Jack reasoned, “there’s really no point in trying to give them quieter jobs, since they’re obviously going to set something on fire. Right now, Geoff’s delaying the inevitable and he’s not going to give in soon. But even Geoff gets worn down eventually.”

He put the money in the bucket. “Twenty-seventh mission. They’re on mission number fifteen now, right?”

-

They went to the amusement park as newly christened lovers (and on company dime) since... Well, why not?

They went to the amusement park, browsed around the Austin stores, got a horribly romantic candle-lit dinner (without Burnie and Ashley), and generally had fun not doing work.

It was incredibly unproductive. Ryan had no regrets.

Gavin nearly threw up when Ryan ordered clam chowder and dropped his bread in the soup and Ryan flashed his gold wedding band proudly when the waitress came to bring them their check.

Gavin scoffed at his pride in his cheaply-acquired ring (that he used Geoff’s credit card to buy), Ryan feigned offense, and they headed back to the hotel after ignoring their job for the entire day.

Ryan sat down and checked the computer monitors. Nope. Still no difference in activity. He threw his hands up in the air in frustration, just as Gavin came out of the shower, and tilted his head back for a sappy fake-married kiss. Gavin gave him a smirk and obliged, before moving towards their bed to probably text Michael or Geoff or play Angry Birds or whatever.

They really needed some action because this was getting ridiculous.

**-**

Other missions in the past involved: pretending to have sex, grinding in clubs, kissing in a church, making out, and notably, pushing each other into dark alleyways with details not mentioned in the mission report.

Moments like those usually ended with Gavin giving Ryan a small kiss on the cheek and Ryan rolling his eyes or raising an eyebrow at the absurdly sweet gesture before kissing back.

It transferred later to in-between missions and office times and call-outs of, “Love you, Ryan!” or “Ryan, the alleyway guy!”

Kisses on the cheek, forehead, lips, weren’t really new, per say. Michael and Lindsay teased them about it often enough. It’s all about context, really.

So, in retrospect, pretending to be married wasn’t a big deal at all. From a purely objective perspective, of course.

-

There were a few more weeks of dull stakeouts and investigating employees and courteous false curiosity in Burnie's newest daily struggles, and as always, Ryan and Gavin both got bored. 

“Being married to you is boring as hell, Free,” Ryan said, playing Minecraft on his computer. “What happened to nights of shootouts and setting fire to buildings?”

Gavin didn’t even look up from his phone. “It’s your turn to observe Burnie’s employees do absolutely nothing, stop playing Minecraft.”

"Not gonna talk to me about scalene triangles or coin flip probabilities?"

Gavin grunted, and propped himself back on the pillows of their bed.

Ryan sighed and checked the cameras. Still no activity. They even _put_ the files on the first floor. They _planted_ the false evidence. These were terrible spies who couldn't even take bait. Terrible.

-

Between their grand misadventures, Ryan and Gavin liked to swap stories. They were friends mostly, even if they kissed quite often, and even if Ryan hadn't quite remembered to give Gavin his phone number.

Ryan told Gavin about the time he was caught in a tornado and the time he may have accidentally shot someone before getting hired at the company. Gavin told Ryan about his life before the Agency, his employment with Burnie Burns, and the three cats that he had back in his apartment. Lindsay liked to babysit them when she wasn’t on jobs herself.

It was a good working relationship, and then Gavin would inevitably mention something about science and then three warehouses - one of which had the briefcase inside - got set on fire. It happened.

They got the briefcase out and the death-toll was minimal. Really.

“The dick drawn on the inside of the warehouse in the blood of our enemies was really Ryan’s idea,” Gavin chirped during debriefing.

“Honestly, Geoff, this should be expected by now,” Jack sighed from where he was leaning against the door-frame. Like a guard-dog preventing them from escaping Geoff’s exasperation. Not wrath. All the wrath in their boss was gone by their first mission.

Geoff set down the paperwork and had a sensation on his face that felt like crying. It was all routine.

“Not going to chime in, Geoff?” Ryan asked, slightly concerned for his boss. Slightly. He was mostly just amused.

“I'd chime in with a haven't you people ever heard of completing a single mission without burning half of the building down, but I’m too busy being fucking astounded by this report," Geoff snapped.

He looked back down at the paper. “That’s fucking disturbing, Gavin, don’t take lessons from Ryan. I’m going to assign you the easiest mission next time. The worst mission. The most boring mission you assholes will ever have. Even you two won’t be able to fuck the next mission up.”

-

Fuck. He fucked up. He stared at the office window with the bullet holes and vaguely human shaped hole in the glass. Burnie invested in weak glass, really. Couldn't even take few bullets.

“Gavin? Are you alive?”

Ryan leaned over the edge of the window to stare down at where Gavin was laying prone on the street floor. Thank fucking Christ, they were only on the first story. He turned back to face the corpses and shattered glass.

Geoff would have a lot of cleanup to do. Gavin may have been bleeding out outside the building because of a ricocheted bullet, but it was still a lot better than their previous missions. Eh.

He daintily stepped over the remainder of what once was a corporate spy, and walked towards the stairs. Gavin could wait few minutes, he wasn’t going to rush.

He broke into a brisk jog when the police sirens started blaring. Fuck, he had to rush.

All he had to do was scoop up his fake-husband('s corpse?), call Jack, make a report to Geoff and offer condolences to Burns about his now-dead traitorous workers. Not too much left to do, really.

-

There were quick goodbyes to be made. “Oh, Gavin and I heard about the fire, we were in a hotel just downtown, and Gavin would be here, really, but there was nothing he could do. Called out, you know. Emergency business. Just last night. And Gavin’s fucking terrible with communication, you know that.”

Burnie looked genuinely distressed, “He’s alright, though? There was apparently gunshots in my building. Gunshots! And then the fire, and I don’t know how many of my workers are dead, and the police are ruling this as a cause of somebody trying to steal my tech and cover their tracks, but.”

 _Don’t worry_ , Ryan wanted to comfort him, _the only ones who died were the guys who_ were _stealing tech_. But that would’ve really ruined the whole spy aspect of the plan. So he settled for a white lie.

“Gavin’s completely unharmed. He’ll probably text you later when off the plane to make sure you’re alright. Don’t worry, Mr. Burns. I’m sorry we both had to leave on such short notice, but it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

Ryan reached out to shake his hand, and offered a genuine smile. _Sorry I torched your first floor offices, but it had to be done_ , he didn’t say.

Burnie’s worry lines didn't fade, but they did lessen, just a little, as he shook his hand firmly and said, “Don’t let Gavin be a total asshole to you, alright? It’s still hard to believe that he’s married. Do you know it feels like I just employed him yesterday? God, I feel old. Look out for him.” And he grinned bright and cordial, before patting Ryan on the shoulders.

Ryan waved off the niggling feeling of pleasure that came with the word ‘married,’ gave a small laugh, and got in the taxi to take a flight back to the Agency.

Mission accomplished.

He checked his phone and saw that Jack sent him a message that read, ‘your husband is alright, btw ;)' which was nice of him. He subtly let out a sigh of relief to not draw the cab driver's attention and made a mental note to later send Burnie a text from Gavin’s phone to tie up loose-ends.

He laid back on the taxi seat and closed his eyes. His husband was alright, and he would accept that.

-

Ryan whistled as Geoff flipped through his file.

“You-You motherfucker. This was _corporate espionage_. You literally just had to pretend to drop by Burnie’s office for a get-together, eat a lunch or two with him, and fucking take out the fucking fuckers who were in my friend’s fucking company! That was it! How did it end with the assholes bleeding on the office floor?”

“They may have found us before we found them.”

Geoff rubbed his temple with one hand. “You’re a spy. And you chose," he tapped the paper for emphasis, "‘Michael Ramsay-Free’ as your alias? Does being with Gavin just automatically lower his partner’s IQ?”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, Geoff. You know, pretending to be married really offered up some extra trust with Burns.” It would be a good experiment. Testing the riskiness Gavin inspired in his partners. He would bring up the topic for discussion as soon as Gavin left the infirmary.

Geoff grumbled some more curses under his breathe before flipping through the rest of the report in disgust. It was a fairly slim folder, comparatively to some other missions. There wasn’t that much to report.

“Don’t ‘Geoff’ me, Haywood. You shot Gavin out of a window.”

“Yup.”

“I mean, even I get the urges to do so sometimes, but why?” Ryan saw Geoff’s eye twitch just a little.

“Uh, in my defense, that was an accident.”

“An accident. You. With guns.” _Our best marksman, other than Ray, who’s so pro, he can use a pink sniper rifle and still remain stealthy_ , was said through Geoff’s incredulous glare.

Ryan cleared his throat, “Well, yes.” He folded his hands behind his back, and rocked a little.

“Explain.”

“Listen, you can’t blame me for a lack of gun safety. Or even an intent to kill. It’s not my fault that Gavin walked in front of my gun and, uh, I may have accidentally friendly fired.”

Geoff rubbed his temples, “Leave, Haywood. You two will give me early alcohol poisoning, I swear.” He pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay (probably given to him by Michael as a suck-up present) as if to accentuate the point. He waved him away in dismissal.

Ryan dashed out of the room before Geoff could notice the slip of paper at the end that said he torched each individual first floor office after the windows shattered. He really needed Gavin to take the blame for that.

-

Michael was by Gavin’s bedside in the infirmary when Ryan came in, talking with his best friend about tv shows, or missions, or some YouTube videos. He gave a small wave when Ryan approached.

Gavin looked like a dumbstruck fish, mouth opening and closing, before letting out an angry noise. Like a cat. Or a bird. Gavin probably wasn't human.

“You shot me.”

“It was a high stakes thing!”

“You shot me, you bloody lunatic!”

“I’m sorry, but it wasn’t intentional! You were in front of my bullet!”

“You shot me out of a window, and you’re my husband Ryan!”

“Listen, the mission’s over, and we technically didn't even get any contracts made. So I didn't _really_ try to kill my husband.”

"Well fine. Now we don't have to pretend to be married anymore. I’m not married to your bloody insane trigger-happy arse,” Gavin snapped out irritably.

Michael let out a laugh at Gavin’s expression, before getting up. “You two fucking lovebirds sort it out or something. You’re an idiot, my boi,” he said fondly, warmth evident in his words. “An idiot who got shot by another idiot.” He lightly punched Ryan on his way out, signifying no hard feelings about his gunfire, amusement stretched wide on his face.

The room was oddly silent without his presence, and Ryan directed his attention to the flowers, the fruit baskets, and the dick pictures on the ‘Get well soon, asshole!’ cards all piled on the nightstand next to Gavin’s bed.

"Well, you know,” he started without really knowing what to say. Gavin was fiddling on his phone. Always on his phone.

There was a pause. "Well what, Ryan?"

"I did torch the office in your memory. When I thought you might have been dead."

It worked like a charm. Gavin broke into giggles. “You’re a sodding not-husband. Didn't even check my body first.”

“Hey, there was some more pressing matters to attend to. And I’m a sodding great husband, and you’re a terrible spy, getting shot.”

“By you,” Gavin pointed out, setting his phone down next to the cards and the basket of grapes. The smile on his face made him look like a pompous prick.

“Well… details,” he shrugged. He reached out to lightly grab Gavin’s hand. “You know, it wasn’t really that bad being married to you. Even when I tried to commit uxoricide.”

“‘Uxoricide?’” The cheeky grin didn't fade. Gavin’s hand gripped his back.

“‘Murder of one’s wife,’ which you didn't know because you’re somebody who didn't go to college,” Ryan said, all false snootiness.

Gavin laughed, “You know that because you’re a nerd. And I didn't mind being married to you either, although you’re a rather terrible shot and kisser.”

“Excuse you, you’re the real terrible kisser here. My kissing skills are phenomenal,” and he leaned in to prove his point.

Gavin’s lips were chapped, the angle over a hospital bed was awkward, and it was pretty uncomfortable with Ryan leaning his head forward and tilting his body at an arc. He pulled back. There was a giggle from the hall and he was pretty sure Michael was either loitering outside or stealthily taking pictures.

Gavin’s smile never faded, and Ryan was helpless and smiled back. Their foreheads touched and it was a completely, utterly, over-the-top romance novel moment. Ryan didn't move.

Their fingers remained entwined.

-

When he got to work, he found his office space occupied.

“You know, the day we got fake married, Jack sent us a pile of marriage contracts,” Gavin said, spinning in Ryan’s chair. Gavin always made fast recoveries, it was remarkable. Or maybe superhuman. Gavin _definitely_ wasn’t human. One month and already back on the field? Ridiculous.

He took a donut from Lindsay's adjacent desk. “Oh, really?”

“Yup. So Geoff’s assigning us on another mission after Michael refused to work with me, who knows why, and pretending to be married might be a good set-up. Pre-mission planning.”

“Or?” He bit into the donut. Boston creme, nice.

“Or we can actually get married? Just a thought. I signed the contracts and they’re right here.” Gavin stopped spinning to tap on an innocuous manila folder.

Ryan smiled. “Still want to get married after I shot you?”

Gavin stood up to peck his cheek. “For the mission, of course,” and he stole the donut from his hand before bouncing away, probably to bother Michael or Ray.

Ryan sat down in his chair, still warm, and leaned back to look at the marriage documents. On the folder a green sticky note just said, ‘Love you!’

He huffed out a laugh and reached for a pen.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary inspired by "I Write Sins Not Tragedies" by Panic! at the Disco.
> 
> Special thanks to Kappa and EmberCelica for the Beta and encouragement.


End file.
